


Bodyache

by albabutter



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: First Kiss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albabutter/pseuds/albabutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Besides, it was Ronan who had started watching him. Ronan who had decided that Adam Parrish was indeed something worth looking at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bodyache

**Author's Note:**

> Just a (probably) non-canon compliant one shot I wrote as part of a fic trade deal for my friend Lynn. No idea if it actually lines up with the timeline of the series but let's just pretend it does. This hasn't been beta'd so please excuse any and all errors! (sidenote, does involve sexual activity between two highschool students one of whom might be 18? not sure if counts as underage, but just a heads up in case that's an issue!)

Virginia in the summertime was suffocating. And for all of Gansey’s earnest romanticizing, Henrietta was not immune to the sticky, all encompassing heat that engulfed the valley for a quarter of the year. May in particular was unbearable, a potent combination of humidity and the Aglionby school uniform that left Adam Parrish yearning for the shaded privacy of Cabeswater. Shirtless maybe, and definitely in shorts. HIs sweater was secondhand but wool nonetheless, and he could feel sweat pooling at the base of his spine. Aglionby air conditioning was better than the local highschool if Blue’s complaining and slowly rising dress hems were anything to go by, but all the tuition money in the world couldn’t keep the Virginian heat from sneaking in.

For a moment, Adam thought of shucking his secondhand sweater, appearances be damned. He glanced at Ronan on his left, sweater stuffed into his bag, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up carelessly. Ronan’s tie had been discarded, the first few buttons of his shirt left undone. A flagrant dress code violation at first glance, but the larger part of Adam’s attention was devoted to the exposed throat, the forearms, tanner and slightly freckled from hanging out the windows of the BMW and the Pig. A distant voice in Adam’s head noted that it was kind of odd to be so preoccupied with these innocuous body parts, considering Ronan was shirtless more often than not during summer; his body was no secret. But still, it took Gansey’s curious gaze on his face for Adam to realize he’d been staring. For a while. He shrugged it off and turned back to his work, noting that Gansey’s wilted shirt collar looked as defeated as he felt. Cabeswater simmered under his skin, a lazy pull that promised a cool breeze and cold water and there it was-- grass underneath his fingers, sun on his face, hot but not overbearing. His eyes slipped closed, the classroom falling away, their teacher’s voice morphing from a coherent drone to a low pitched buzz, buzzing in his ear, a wasp. Adam panicked, _no not a wasp, not near Gansey_. Cabeswater was quicksand; he couldn’t open his eyes, and the buzzing was relentless.

_Not a wasp, not a wasp. Cicadas, mosquitos, anything. Not a wasp, please._

A loud clap brought him back, and he whipped his head around trying to locate the noise. Half the class was staring at him, and he felt his face flush instinctually. But it was Ronan who he looked at. Ronan whose gaze was dark and knowing. Ronan who pulled his hands apart and wiped a dead mosquito off on his pants.

The end of school, when it came, was an audible sigh of relief that filled the building. Gansey muttered something about picking up Blue, and Adam was too distracted to feel anything but a very distant ping that might have been hurt but felt more like accepting the inevitable. He wordlessly followed Ronan to the BMW, pausing only to take off his sweater and chuck it into the back.

“Can we stop by St. Agnes? I wanna change.”

“Don’t get all gussied up for me, Parrish.”

“It’s hot as balls, Lynch. I need a cold shower and anything not made of wool.”

“I love it when you use the b-word, Parrish.” Ronan smirked at him and gunned it out of the parking lot.

His room at St. Agnes was important just for the sake of being his, but that didn’t change the fact that walking into the gust of heat behind his front door was like walking into the gates of hell. Judging from the look on Ronan’s face, the feeling was mutual.

“There’s a pun I should be making here about Dante’s Inferno,” he mused. “But I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Ronan grimaced at him. “Please take pity on me, and let Gansey buy you an air conditioner.”

Adam dropped his bag by his bed and started working on his tie.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the Irish were so delicate when it came to a little spring heat.”

“Fuck you, man. Not all of us were born in this hellhole.” Ronan sniffed primly. “And the Irish can handle anything.”

Adam nodded sagely. “Except for alcoholism and efficient food management.”

A book hit the wall next to Adam’s head, and he laughed as he disappeared into the bathroom. The part of Adam’s brain that never stopped tallying up costs noted that at least during summertime he didn’t have to worry about hot water, and the sluicing of the cold water down his body calmed him in a way that reminded him of Cabeswater. Cabeswater who still insistently prodded at him, not a push to repair, just a reminder of its presence. He could do anything in Cabeswater. _He could sleep, take a nap for the sake of taking a nap. He could-_

A loud hit on the door startled him, and he snapped his head up.

“What?” he called out.

Ronan replied back, something vague but not urgent. Adam finished in the shower, wrapped the towel around his waist, and stepped back into his room, uniform in hand and ready to be dumped in the laundry pile. He suddenly felt self-conscious, filled with an unexpected urge to ask Ronan to leave. He resisted, partly out of fear that Ronan would laugh at him, and partly out of a fear that if he asked Ronan to leave, then he would and he wouldn’t come back. Both were well founded fears. But as sudden as the feeling appeared, it fled. Ronan had seen him shirtless dozens of times. Besides, it was Ronan who had started watching him. Ronan who had decided that Adam Parrish was indeed something worth looking at. It was that thought that made Adam look back at him now, trying to see full-out what he had only glimpsed before. But Ronan wasn’t looking at him; instead he was looking determinedly at the textbooks strewn across his desk. The image of Ronan Lynch peering down at textbooks like they had anything of value in them was enough to cause a bubble of laughter and confidence to well up in Adam’s chest.

“Oh come on, I’m not that bad to look at.”

Ronan’s neck cracked, he looked up so fast. “What?” he asked sharply.

Adam shrugged, still snickering. “You don’t even read the textbooks for finals; you just read our notes. Which you’ve got another thing comin if you think that’s happening again next year.”

He bent down to grab his clothes out of his dresser. He debated on shorts or jeans for a moment, not noticing Ronan moving. When he stood back up, he came face to face with him, and he struggled not to flinch back.  

“Parrish, I-” But Ronan never finished his sentence. His eyes were somewhere on Adam’s face, not quite his mouth, and it took him a moment to realize that Ronan was following a drop of water down his jawline to his throat. Adam was flooded with the need to cross his arms or adjust his towel or to flee the room, but all of those things were admissions of fear, and Lynch boys, at least the older two, fed off the stuff. Ronan’s gaze had traveled further down, head cocked in a way so reminiscent of Chainsaw, that Adam suddenly wondered who picked it up from who. Ronan didn’t look further down, eyes caught on Adam’s torso. Adam didn’t know what it was that had caught his attention–the way his chest was heaving ( _why was he breathing so hard, they hadn’t even touched_ ) or the way his ribs were visible ( _when was the last time he’d eaten a meal and not cared about the price?_ ) or maybe the scar on his abdomen from one of his father’s crueler moments ( _would the humiliation from that ever end?_ )–but whatever it was, it made Ronan’s brow furrow. Adam didn’t know what that meant, if it was pity or a re-evaluation of his attraction to him in the first place. But he felt the embarrassment tighten in his stomach, could feel his neck flush, and he finally gave in to the temptation to cross his arms. Ronan looked startled by the movement and wordlessly moved his mouth for a moment.

The shock of rendering Ronan Lynch momentarily speechless was enough to cause the knot in Adam’s stomach to loosen an inch. He shifted his weight and felt his towel shift, Ronan’s eyes darting downwards and away again, hand twitching in an aborted movement. He started to back away, the very tips of his ears turning pink, and just like that Adam got it. Ronan wouldn’t act on this, for whatever reason. Religion maybe. An offhand comment made by Niall at some remote but crucial moment in his childhood. A tiny part of him that still wanted Declan’s approval. A fear of how Gansey would react. A fear of how _Adam_ would react. Adam’s hand shot out to grab him before he consciously made the decision to move. Ronan’s arm tensed under his hand, and he turned to Adam, teeth bared and ready to fight. _Defensive, always so defensive_. An angry sense of self-preservation that was just so foreign to Adam’s, that a part of him wanted to drop his arm and leave him to whatever self-destructive behavior he’d indulge in to convince himself that this wasn’t real and never happened. A bigger part of him wanted him to stay. It was this part that forced his mouth open.

“Lynch. Ronan,” he amended. But he had nothing to follow up with. Ronan seemed to sense he didn’t actually have anything to say and turned to pull away again. Adam followed him and moved his hand to his waist, twisting itself in his shirt. He pulled, and Ronan fell towards him. They were face to face and closer than Adam had expected. From here he could see that Ronan’s pupils were dilated but his jaw was clenched. Adam let his hand untwist from his shirt tails and cautiously slid it underneath, fingers brushing the skin of Ronan’s abdomen with a careful consideration he usually reserved for skittish animals and the ley lines more complex rituals. Ronan stilled underneath him, and Adam realized he was holding his breath. He exhaled shakily when Adam skated his fingers through the line of hair leading down his stomach. He leaned forward, waiting. Ronan would never have made the first move; he knew that. But he needed him to meet him halfway, so he waited. He rubbed his thumb in a slow circle around Ronan’s hip, eyes half-lidded. Ronan was watching him anxiously, eyes roaming his face, looking for the game. He wasn’t going to do it. Adam leaned back. He was surprised by the lack of humiliation, but he knew he wasn’t wrong. Ronan wanted him, even if he wouldn’t act on it. No, it was disappointment that gripped him, fear that he had fucked their friendship up beyond repair, dread at what Gansey and Blue would say when they found out.

He dropped his hand, prepared for a full retreat when Ronan shot out and gripped his face, bringing their mouths together. It wasn’t a proper kiss by any stretch. It was a chaste kiss for lack of technique or direction. But it was real, and it was Ronan. His grip on his face was bruising, and Adam brought his hands gently up to Ronan’s hips, thumbs rubbing circles as he kissed him back. Ronan pulled back, eyes searching his face, and his thumb unconsciously mimicking the same circle on his cheek.

“I dreamt this.” His voice was quiet, questioning.

Adam nodded solemnly. “Wet dreams are a natural part of puberty and nothing to be ashame-”

Ronan laughed and pushed him away. “Shut the fuck up.”

Adam fell back onto the bed, and the towel shifted again. Ronan’s attention abruptly shifted with it. Adam leaned back on his elbows, legs spread invitingly. Ronan cautiously stood between them and leaned down. Adam caught his mouth, pulling Ronan down on top of him. His towel did nothing to hide his hard on, but he was gratified when he felt Ronan hard against his thigh too. Ronan bit his lip, and he responded by opening his mouth, letting him lick into his mouth with the kind of enthusiasm he generally reserved for petty misdemeanors. Adam set to work on Ronan’s shirt, while Ronan sank his hands into Adam’s hair, tugging in a way that angled his head back. Ronan moved down, dragging his teeth down his neck, catching an errant water drop caught in his collarbone. He felt a moan escape from his mouth, and Ronan’s responding smile was filthy and triumphant. There was a warmth low in his belly that made Cabeswater’s call pale in comparison. Ronan flicked a nipple experimentally, and the hitch in Adam’s breath did not go unnoticed. He moved to bring his mouth farther down, but Adam pulled him up, pushing his shirt off. He needed skin on skin, and Ronan seemed to understand, their mouths meeting again as he started to work on his pants. Adam dragged his hands down Ronan’s back, blunt nails skittering across his tattoo. Ronan bucked against him, and Adam rolled his hips up. Ronan pushed the towel away, and Adam shoved his underwear down his legs. He let his fingers ghost across Ronan’s cock, and Ronan swore before kissing him filthy and open. They ground against each other for a few breathless moments, too distracted to do anything more than breathe into each other’s mouths. Adam rocked his hips, legs bracketing Ronan, who sped up and leaned his face into Adam’s neck. His breathing was jagged, and he grabbed one of Adam’s hands and tangled their fingers together. Adam breathed his name, and Ronan came with a groan that Adam felt more than heard on his left side. Ronan bit his shoulder and pulled his hand down between them, grabbing Adam to jerk him off. The angle was awkward, but he was slick with Ronan’s come and his orgasm hit him soon after.

They stayed like that for a minute, before Ronan rolled off. Adam grimaced at the sticky mess on his belly, but the voice in his head that complained about his water bill was efficiently ignored by the rest of his body that was singing with the knowledge that he had just been jerked off into oblivion by Ronan Lynch. Who chose that moment to use Adam’s towel to wipe off their rapidly cooling come and then throw it into the laundry pile.

“Rude.”

“Next time I’ll just come in your mouth.”

Adam popped up onto his elbows and looked down at Ronan, who was staring at him nervously, eyebrows raised.

“Next time,” Adam said, enjoying the way Ronan unconsciously held his breath. “You’re getting in the shower with me.”

Ronan snorted and closed his eyes. Adam laid back down. It was too hot for anything resembling a post-coital cuddle, but he brushed his hand against Ronan’s and wasn’t surprised when he linked their fingers together.

The next time Ronan came over, he came with an AC unit that didn’t need to plug in anywhere and seemed to play a slowed down version of the Murder Squash song when you turned the knob too far to the right. Adam ran it all summer.


End file.
